


Black Legacies

by WitchyAelin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Daggers, Dark, Dark Academia, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Evil Plans, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Female Friendship, Femme Fatale, HarryPotter - Freeform, Hogwarts, Magic, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Mystery, Power Play, Strong Female Characters, Uneasy Allies, Witches, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-24 13:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30072789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyAelin/pseuds/WitchyAelin
Summary: Aitne Granger-Weasley is the only Weasley to be a Slytherin, but she lives for the infamy. There are rumors of another Dark Wizard rising to threaten the Wizarding World, but Aitne isn't concerned. She's hell-bent on becoming the greatest witch in an age and taking over the Ministry of Magic herself. To do so, she must recover an ancient and very dark artifact: something she's prepared to do alone, until arrogant and insufferable Perseus Malfoy ruins everything.Mysterious accidents and disappearances are happening all over the castle and country, leaving Aitne rushing against the clock--are a pair of sworn enemy Slytherin students actually going to save Hogwarts? Or will Aitne risk it all to chase her ambition and reach her true potential?
Relationships: Granger-Weasley/Malfoy, Potter/Weasley, Weasley/Granger





	1. Chapter 1

Aitne Granger-Weasley snapped another neck and sighed in annoyance: there were still so many left. 

She gazed down despondently at the sick mandrake and wished this cursed Herbology lesson would be over soon. Professor Longbottom continued moping the greenhouse as if some serious tragedy had befallen the school. He would not shut up about how horrid it was that they had to put the mandrakes down, but all Aitne could think of was how she was going to avoid her siblings on the way into the castle in the next ten minutes.

She cracked a mandrake spine and stared off towards the castle thoughtfully, brushing back her slightly frizzy auburn hair off her brow with impatience. She could enter in through the side entrance on the west end of the castle and avoid the great hall altogether, or maybe she could summon her broomstick and enter through the astronomy tower window? She knew she needed to keep her distance from them, or she would lose her—

“Merlin’s BALLS,” Aitne muttered viciously as the mandrake she had been trying to subdue decided to fight back and nearly rip her thumb off with its razor sharp teeth.

“Miss Weasley!” huffed Professor Longbottom. “How many times must I remind you not to use foul language in this greenhouse? Ten points from Slytherin.” Aitne ignored the snickering from the Ravenclaw students and the venomous glares from her fellow Slytherins as Professor Longbottom continued. “Do watch your fingers! I thought I told you to treat these plants with more caution.” He finished with a sad shake of his head and stared back at Aitne, clearly waiting for an apology.

Aitne gave the professor a shallow smile and ground out, “My apologies Professor Longbottom,” before swiftly glaring back down at her mandrake. She whispered sweet nothings into its fat little ears, promising a slow, agonizing death for the loss in points it earned her. Professor Longbottom was right, Aitne usually was a lot more careful in Herbology, as she was in nearly all her classes. She was the top in her class, much to the Ravenclaws’ chagrin, as the top student from the last fifteen years was produced by their house. Not since her mother, Hermione Granger, had there been such a talented witch from a house other than Ravenclaw.

Her mother. 

Aitne did not have a cozy relationship with her parents, as the rest of her obnoxious family enjoyed. As the middle child of six, Aitne was subjected to the typical bullying and tormenting that comes from being the last in a large family, but as soon as the sorting hat declared her Slytherin, the lighthearted relationships she had with her siblings vanished. Aitne suddenly shook her head, as if she could expel the thoughts of her family with the motion. Though her induction into Slytherin was five years ago, the shockwaves of her first year at Hogwarts were still roiling through the Weasleys.

Aitne hastily returned her focus to the mandrake and her determination to make it suffer for her public tongue-lashing. Just as she was making good on this promise, twisting it’s neck so that it squealed under her grip, Perseus Malfoy slid up behind her and brought his lips to her ear, his insufferable scent of sandalwood and sea salt filling her nose.

“Absolutely useless,” he breathed. “No wonder you’re the family disgrace Weasel; first that embarrassing outburst with that sniveling sister of yours, and now you’re losing points for the house.” She could feel his sneer from his position behind her and knew he wasn’t finished with his insults. “I do wonder how you can stand to even remain at this school at all, the shame must eat you alive…” He trailed off, clearly winding up for the killing blow, but Aitne had heard enough. She whirled around, swift as lightning, and had her wand at Perseus’ throat in half a second. He sputtered, shock flashing in his green eyes before it was replaced by the hard, mocking expression that seemed permanently etched into his face. Indeed, he glanced down at her wand and smirked as though she held a twig at his throat and not a weapon she was exceptionally capable of wielding, as he and everyone in that greenhouse was fully aware.

Aitne was ‘disturbingly’ (as she heard some professors and students mutter) good at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Prep classes. She could disarm and launch a counter curse at any opponent in her Dueling Against the Dark Arts class in less than a minute and a half, as well as ward off all of the Unforgivable Curses (well nearly all, with the Killing Curse the obvious exception) with sheer will. Since the war, life at Hogwarts was decidedly different than it was for their parents. A simple Defense Against the Dark Arts class became obsolete after Voldemort and his Death Eaters launched their attacks twenty years ago.

Perseus continued to smirk at her as he casually brought his hand up to smooth back his unruly ink black curls, as if Aitne did not have rage wreathing her blue eyes in fire, as she knew they must be. 

Ever since they had started at Hogwarts five years ago, Perseus had been a pain in Aitne’s ass. He belittled and insulted her for her heritage: the only child from the golden trio in Slytherin. Perseus was attractive and charming, and many Slytherins fell in line along side him, joining in whenever they could to berate her. He was also constantly competing against her for the spot as top student in their class, though he always fell a bit short. Well, almost always.

“Here now,” he murmured. “Look who’s sensitive enough to risk it all at some light taunting,” his low chuckle making Aitne see red. “This is just one of the many reasons you will never,” he leaned into the point of her wand at his pale throat, and spit out, “belong.” 

Aitne blinked and suddenly remembered through her fury that they were in the middle of class, and quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to them. The Ravenclaws at the surrounding benches were still grimacing and snapping necks as quickly as they could, obviously trying to reach Professor Longbottom’s quota on dead mandrakes so they could escape. On her left, her fellow Slytherins were doing much of the same, though a few of them had turned it into a game to see who could snap a neck in two places at once. Aitne suddenly wished Clara Montague, her best friend was here to see that. Unfortunately, she was in her dormitory in the Slytherin dungeons, sleeping off a nasty case of vanishing sickness (her arm was just starting to reappear that morning), and missed class today.

It was apparent no one was paying attention, and Hagrid had just called Professor Longbottom out of the greenhouse for Merlin knew what, but his timing was excellent. Normally, Aitne would have a witty and or scathing retort to Perseus’s low blows, but it had already proven to be a ridiculous day, and she just didn’t have the energy. Aitne cocked her head and curved her mouth into a slow, cruel smile as she uttered her first and only word to Perseus: “Incindio”. Before Perseus could so much as open his mouth, Aitne had tipped her wand down so that the bottom hem of his robes was immediately consumed with blue flame. Just as she knew it would, the bell began gonging from the castle, and everyone in the greenhouse bolted, relieved to be done with the nasty lesson. Aitne grabbed her books and folded into the crowd, a broad smile stretching across her face just as Perseus began to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm really excited to finally be putting this story down on paper. Please don't hesitate to interact with the story/leave comments, I'd love to hear feedback and meet ya'll! I'll be posting pretty regularly, once a week or more, so I hope you continue to read along and enjoy! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Aitne couldn’t help her grin as she strode into the Great Hall for dinner that night, as Perseus’ screams from Herbology continued in her head in a beautiful loop. She sat down at Slytherin’s table and dug into the Shepard’s pie and hot, doughy rolls. She popped one into her mouth and nearly groaned aloud in satisfaction: those house elves knew how to _cook_.

“What the hell do you have to smile about right now, Aitne?” Aitne reluctantly lifted her eyes from the third roll she had clenched in her hands. Amadea Zabini looked at her from across the table with humor glinting in her rich brown eyes.

Amadea was one of the first friends Aitne had made upon entering Slytherin, a connection forged in their places as ‘resident family failure’. Amadea’s father, Blaise Zabini, was a disdainful, arrogant man, and had always found Amadea’s general amicability and tolerance for others to be distasteful. 

She was also one of the most stunning girls in their class: she was tall and lithe, with a glowing mahogany brown complexion that brightened her hazel eyes. She had her box braids out the top knot they were in this morning and they brushed against her deep green jumper, the charms woven in them glinting under the candlelight.

“I’m clearly enjoying wheaty ecstasy. Why shouldn’t I be happy?” She asked.

“Uh, have you not heard?” Amedea regarded her with suspicion.

“What?” She barely glanced up from buttering another roll.

“Perseus is on an absolute _rampage_.” Amadea said in a low voice, as though she didn’t want anyone overhearing. “He was covered in smoke and vicious burns earlier, and when a third year asked if he was okay, he hit him with a stunning spell. The kid rolled down one of the moving staircases right when it was changing directions. Nearly died.” Amadea nudged Aitne with her boot under the table. “You wouldn’t know anything about this rage of his, would you? I know you have Herbology with him on Wednesdays.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean.” It was an effort to hide her glee.

“Oh come on, Aitne. I gotta say I’m disappointed in you. I heard it was _wildfyre_ that Perseus got lit up with--that stuff is supposed to melt bone in seconds!” She shook her head. “I rather think you’re losing your touch. I would’ve expected at least a sectumsepra to get the ball rolling.” Amadea finished with a scoff.

“I wasn’t in the mood to be clever, you prick. Besides, that would’ve been too messy, and then I’d never get the chance to cook up the potion I’ve been perfecting to _actually_ teach him a lesson; I would’ve been caught by Prof Longbitch and been in detention a month.” Aitne rolled her eyes. “Besides, a sectumsempra is utterly cliche.”

Amadea opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, Teddy Lupin plopped down next to her, grinning broadly. He pushed his chestnut brown curls out of his eyes as he reached for a piece of mince pie across the table. Teddy was tall, nearly six feet, and barely had to strain himself to reach for the food sitting a few feet away with his long arms.

“And how are my two favorite broody Slytherins on this fine evening?” Teddy asked, flashing them one of his charming smiles that got him out of any bind.

“Teddy, first of all, you’re lucky Clara isn’t here to hear you say that: she’d hit you with a Babbling Curse before you could so much as blink.” Aitne said. “She’d be terribly offended, and you would lose your sniveling little crew of girls following you about every time you opened your mouth. Second of all, how many times have we told you it’s a bad look for us to be consorting with a Hufflepuff at supper?” Aitne glared at him, but the effect was ruined when she smiled slightly at his mock shock at her words.

“You wound me, oh cold hearted Slytherin ice queen! How dare I try and bless you with good humor and happiness? My delightfully charming presence is such a nuisance, I’m sure—whatever will the other Slytherins think of you? First, it’s eating with a Hufflepuff, people know you’ve gone soft…next thing you know you’re bending over in the showers to grab that soap you dropped and—"

Amadea cut him off sharply. “Okay! Okay. You can stay, Teddy. Just shut that inane mouth of yours already. We don’t need to give the Goyle twins any ideas.”

At this, the three of them all turned and looked down towards the end of the table, where the Goyle boys were stabbing their potatoes with knives and feeding them to each other. The two were completely identical, with greasy brown hair, sunken eyes, and grayish skin. Craig Goyle chortled when he cut his brother Mitchell with a steak knife after savagely shoving a potato into his mouth. Together, they had _maybe_ six braincells.

The trio collectively shuddered as they turned back to their food. Aitne had lost her appetite earlier, after mentioning the potion she was cooking up for Perseus. She needed to get back to her secret chamber to continue working on it. That, and finally solve the puzzle that was the missing Dagger of Obsidian. 

The Dagger of Obsidian was an ancient and extremely powerful blade, capable of unlimited feats. A Dark artifact, the dagger had been used by Raczidian, a Dark wizard from the middle ages, who slaughtered three villages in a day while wielding its power. The Dagger of Obsidian amplified any curse cast by the wizard or witch who possessed it, could control and bend hundreds of minds at once to its influence, and create obedient and terrifying lethal beasts. And, if one wanted to simply use it as a dagger, it would cause anyone cut with it to turn to obsidian ash.

Those were just a few of its recorded abilities.

Aitne needed it desperately.

The Wizarding World had been blindly following the Ministry of Magic’s naive rules and laws for centuries, yet Dark Wizards like Grindelwald and Voldemort had risen and very nearly destroyed everything. The witches and wizards needed a _leader_ , someone who wouldn’t have to delay action for a bunch of squabbling idiots. Most of whom couldn’t agree on cauldron sizes, let alone how they might stop a Dark pure-blood supremacist lunatic. So many lives were lost in the Battle of Hogwarts thanks to them.

Aitne had always thought her parents and their friends had been daft for not taking their rightful place as the uncontested leaders of the Wizarding World. Her mother had instead made a few inventions and then promptly began having loads of children; her full potential as the greatest witch in an age was lost.

Aitne Granger-Weasley was not placed into Slytherin by mistake, and she sure as hell wasn’t ashamed to be the only Weasley in history to have done, either. Aitne saw her mother’s intelligence and her father’s ambition in herself and wondered why it was so hard to believe they could have a child who wanted to be unmatched in power and change the Wizarding World.

Now, there were rumors and whispers of a new Dark wizard lurking about France, with witches and wizards disappearing and being found in bloody ribbons in alleyways. Aitne was not about to let the Ministry of Magic screw everything to hell again. Her goal of becoming the supreme witch of England had come sooner than she had planned, but she was ready.

It would start with the dagger.

She had gotten considerably closer to finding the location from her research. She knew it was somewhere in the castle, it was just a matter of narrowing it down.

“Aitne, are you listening to a bloody word I’m saying?” Aitne snapped her head up from where she had been sliding her Shepard’s pie around her plate and found Amadea’s hazel eyes boring into her from across the table. “ _What_ is your problem today? You’re all over the place! You missed Teddy snorting his pumpkin juice for Merlin’s sake!” At this, Teddy nodded emphatically from his seat next to Amadea.

“It’s true Aitne, I think a little came out of my tear ducts.”

Aitne knew that was meant to rile her, but she was wound up now from her thoughts about the dagger and her plans. She needed to get back to her secret chamber. Her friends, of course, were entirely unaware of her aspirations and secret room. She jumped up suddenly, nearly upsetting a basket of rolls which had wandered over to her place at the table.

“Shit! I forgot my Potions book in the library! I better go and get it before Peeves feeds it to a grindylow again. I’ll see you in the common room later.” She avoided their eyes and hurried out of the room, conscious to take long, purposeful strides, trying to maintain her air of general confidence even as her body hummed in anticipation, something like electricity thrumming in her veins.

Aitne peered down the hall to make sure no one was coming and stepped around the corridor just meters off the Slytherin common room entrance. No one bothered venturing down that way, as it seemed to stop with a dead end. The entrance to her secret chamber was only marked with a jutted stone from the wall, which was vaguely phallic in shape.

Aitne stood in front of the oblong stone and drew a small triangle with her wand as she whispered “Apertio.” The rock sunk into the stone, and soon the wall was rippling, indicating its permeability, and Aitne stepped through.

The space inside was quite small, the only room it had was for a quaint fireplace (which always had a roaring fire in the grate) a plush, dark green armchair, and a small table for her cauldron. Aitne had been able to conjure a bookcase flush along the left wall and had been collecting books there. The contents of the shelves had anything from dark, restricted spell books to smutty romance novels. It held some of her most prized possessions.

Aitne collapsed in the armchair, her relaxation palpable in the secluded space. Aitne rubbed at her temples briefly before she jumped up, reaching for _Dark Artifacts and Devilish Enchantments_ on one of the shelves.

She was just settling into a new legend about the Dagger of Obsidian before she heard a deafening blast from outside her chamber, and a horribly familiar voice purr: “Open up, Weasel.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Aitne woke to the sound of a screeching banshee on her first morning of year 1 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_As she flew out of her four poster bed in the Slytherin first-year dormitory, she looked around wildly for the evil banshee, her wand at the ready. Aitne noticed the other young girls groaning and stirring from their beds as she surveyed the room. Through her sleep-induced fog, she realized it was in fact_ not _a vile creature, but a very disgruntled looking owl._

_It was Pigewidgeon, the oldest family bird._

_Aitne knew if the ancient owl was making that much of a racket, it must be furious. She gulped._

_Padding over to the ruffled owl, she took the red envelope off its tiny leg with mounting horror. It was a howler.  
She ran back to her bed, pulled on her dressing gown, and dashed into the common room. There, she threw a blanket over the envelope as it exploded in a maelstrom of red sparks and flame. _

_“AITNE ANDROMEDA GRANGER-WEASLEY! A SLYTHERIN? A SLYTHERIN. YOUR MOTHER AND I ARE AB-SO-LUTELY DISAPPOINTED. HOW MANY CAUTIONARY TALES HAVE WE TOLD ABOUT THAT HOUSE? HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING ABOUT WHAT YOUR MOTHER AND I HAVE GONE THROUGH? YOU ARE TO GO TO THE HEADMASTER THIS MORNING AND DEMAND YOU GET ANOTHER GO AT THE SORT—Hermione stop, she has to at least give it a go! I don’t CARE if it’s never been done before I—ow! Blimey will you cut it out? I’m finishing the howler and you—ANYWAY YOU ARE TO GO TO THE HEADMASTER AITNE ANDROMEDA. I EXPECT A FULL REPORT BY TOMORROW AFTERNOON. WE WILL NOT HAVE OUR DAUGHTER INFLUENCED BY THOSE DEPLORABLE SYLTHERINS. Love, Dad.”_

_Aitne saw the headmaster that very day, only because she suspected her father would find out if she didn’t. Headmaster Scamander regarded her with kindness and patience and reminded her that Slytherin was not a marker of evil, and that there was no changing the Sorting Hat’s decision. Aitne knew all this already, and wasn’t entirely surprised by her father’s behavior, but what she saw in Headmaster Scamander’s face was entirely more revolting to her: pity._

Aitne felt the blood drain from her face. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have found her here. _No one_ had any inkling the phallic rock was anything but a lewd coincidence.

Her hands were shaking as she drew her wand and inched closer to the entrance of the secret chamber, scarcely daring to breathe, lest he hear her.

“Aitne, darling,” Perseus drawled. “Really, this is embarrassing. You can hear me, I know you’re in there, and the longer you delay, the closer I am to fetching a professor and—”

Aitne had seconds to decide, and before she knew what she was doing, she drew an upside down triangle on the entrance wall, muttering the opening spell under her breath.

As the rock began to ripple and become penetrable, Aitne stepped back and realized seconds too late that her panic lead to a terrible mistake: all her banned spell books, Dark artifacts, and cauldron with the potion she was inventing were still entirely visible.

Perseus had already stepped through the stone.

“Well, well…” he murmured. “What in the blazes do we have here Weasel? Is that an illegal Dark spell book I spot on that bookshelf? And _blimey,_ ” he stopped in his tracks, his eyes fixed on a title on her shelf. A look of incredulity was growing on his face. “ _Sex Lessons With Mr. Black_? Surely you jest. The gloomy, self-important, cold _bitch_ Weasel reads smutty romance?” He turned back toward her, his mouth fixed in a cruel grin.

Aitne simply lifted her wand and was upon him in two swift steps. She pressed the wand into his throat as she had done only hours before. Perseus’ grin faltered briefly, so fast Aitne thought she might have imagined it. He continued his mocking grin as she backed him up against the cool stone wall, her wand digging into his skin.

“Now there’s a familiar sight,” she breathed. “A pathetic Malfoy cowering under a Granger’s wand. Didn’t daddy warn you not to mess with witches outside your rank? I seem to remember an absolutely _delightful_ story about your father in ferret form…” She smirked. “I think it is actually you who have forgotten your place at this school, Percy boy.”

Perseus started at her, fury building up behind his green eyes though his angular face held an expression of general disinterest.

“Stupefy.” He said simply. Aitne was flung away from Perseus, her back slamming painfully into the green armchair before she hit the ground with a thud. Her wand was gone. She pushed herself onto her forearms and looked up in time to see Perseus walk over, triumph mixed with blazing anger flaring across his features. He hitched up his immaculate black trousers before squatting down near Aitne on the floor.

In his left hand was her wand.

“That was remarkably satisfying.” He said amiably, as though he were discussing a particularly interesting quidditch maneuver. “Though I don’t think I’m quite finished with you yet, Weasel.” He twirled her wand around his fingers with impressive speed and control. “No, I have a few more ideas for the two of us, _darling_.” He flung the last word out derisively.

Aitne smoothly rolled away and into a back somersault with enough momentum that she stood in less than ten seconds. Perseus stood up from his crouch and stalked toward her.

“Cute party trick Aitne, but I’m afraid paltry gymnastics won’t get you out of this bind.”

Aitne regarded him calmly. She had one chance to disarm him and had to play this right—she cursed herself for being in this position to begin with.

“What is it that you want exactly? Revenge? Let’s get it over with, then.” She snapped.

“Ah, well my plans for you include you going in and out of consciousness for some time, with little awareness of your surroundings, so I figure I better glean a bit more about this perplexing little set up you have here.” He looked around the room, taking in the Dark artifacts, the multitude of Dark books, before his eyes landed on the faintly smoking cauldron.

“Well? What is it you find so interesting here? It’s just a little study room for me to work in peace. Hardly that exceptional.” It was a weak attempt to draw his attention away from all the damning evidence she had built up, but she had to try.

“Just what exactly are you studying here, Aitne? It looks like a Dark object?” He scanned the room again, walking over to her armchair--his wand still pointed at her--to glance down at the legend she had stupidly left open about the Dagger of Obsidian. His dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Do you really think _you_ could track down something like this?” He sneered. “What in the bloody hell do you want it for, anyway?”

“Yes, I am studying the Dagger. I am absolutely not trying to track it down. And what I do is none of your bloody concern!” Aitne’s temper was flaring. Who did he think he was coming in her and snooping through her stuff? 

She would kill him before he divulged her plans to anyone. It was too important.

“Tsk tsk, Weasel. I thought we talked about your tone?” He prowled over to where Aitne was standing and pushed her into the wall. A base reversal of their earlier position. Creative. She chuckled.

“Something funny, you bushy haired bitch? You melted my bloody femur today, did you know that? I’ve had enough of your prancing about here like you own the place. There are consequences for your harebrained actions, and I am ready to show you just what that means.” He was towering over her, leaning down so his hot breath hit her face with each spiteful word.

It was now or never. She had most of the information on the Dagger memorized, though it would be a huge set back in her timeline to destroy it all now and start from the halfway point.

An inconvenience, to be sure, but it would be so much worse if Perseus told anyone and they came looking here.

Just as she was about to mutter the activation word for the blasting enchantment she had cast on the room years ago for situations like these, Perseus breathed “unless…”


End file.
